Laid to Rest
by sharingank
Summary: There comes a point in everyone's life when ghosts must be laid to rest...KakaAnko oneshot. Possible manga spoilers.


Once again, I have been bitten by the KakaAnko bug. Hard. Hehehe. Hope y'all enjoy!

-Oh, and. There is a bit of speculation going on in this piece (you'll know it when you get there), so just remember, it is a crack theory. It has not been proven, kay?

**

* * *

****Laid to Rest**

* * *

It had been a while since he last visited this place. 

Feet crunching over dried, dead leaves, hands stuffed in his pockets, his dog, Chief, sticking close to his side, Kakashi swept his eyes—he refused to cover the Sharingan here—over his surroundings, marveling at how little they had changed. Perhaps the trees, the brush, the air, knew that he would return, and preserved this memory for him, this _feeling_.

And yet…it was different, somehow. He had come here twice as a boy, once to bury his father, once to bury his mother, grieving them both. Now, rather than being dragged down by despair, he was calm, calmer than he would have expected on the anniversary of his father's passing.

"I think I'm gonna take tomorrow off," he'd told Asuma while they loafed in the lounge at the Hokage compound. "Housekeeping and all that shit, you know. I'm behind."

Lighting a cigarette, his friend gave him a sidelong glance. "Housekeeping," he repeated, the tone of his voice cynical.

Kakashi returned the glance, shifting his ANBU mask back and forth between his hands. "Don't make that face at me," he said impishly. "I might actually start to believe you _care_."

Asuma took a drag on the cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth. "Dumbass." He shook his head, scratched almost lethargically at the new growth of stubble on his chin. "Want company when you go?"

The silver haired man quirked a brow, then chuckled. He'd underestimated his friend's shrewdness. "Naw. I'm bringing Chief."

"The dog."

"Yeah."

Asuma immediately stopped scratching. "So…the dog gives better moral support than the human?"

Kakashi shot him a pointed look. "Chief's cute and cuddly. You're not."

Snorting, Asuma said, "Ouch."

With a grunt, Kakashi stood up, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the offer, though, buddy. I appreciate it." As he was shuffling toward the door, Asuma called out to him.

"Kakashi."

He turned. "Mm?"

"Say hello to them for me."

Momentarily thunderstruck, he blinked, and put his mask on. "I will."

The next morning had dawned bright and beautiful, rays of sunlight seeping through the thick blinds that covered his bedroom window. Hatake Sakumo took his life on a day such as this, not a single cloud in the sky, not a hint of bleak, black melancholy, and Kakashi knew he picked the right time to pay respects at the graves. He would have done it sooner—it was never his intention to wait seven years—but something always made him hesitate. Not yet, he'd tell himself, not yet. You aren't ready. You're still too raw.

But standing out here with the dead leaves and the solemn trees and Chief, he was at peace, the voice of doubt stilled, silenced. He was meant to come, to be cleansed, to finally _let go_.

Chief whined, tail thumping against Kakashi's leg. Ahead of them, two plain white markers jutted from the ground like hedgehog spines, sturdy and strong, held fast by the earth.

He interred them behind his father's beloved fields near the outskirts of Konoha, where Sakumo harvested his renowned wheat each year. Kakashi's abandoned childhood home had since fallen into disrepair, the fields turned to husks, the family's small, tidy house a ramshackle skeleton, but the woods flanking the property seemed to have remained as whole as they were when he left them.

"Well…this is it," Kakashi said to Chief, and, resigned, strode forward, the dog following. Once he reached the markers, he paused to take them in, and sank to his knees, leaves crackling under his weight. As is the nature of dogs, Chief sniffed the air around the graves, sharp nose alert, before he settled next to his master.

Kakashi barely noticed. Lost in thought, his eyes stared without seeing, because they were looking back, into the past…remembering…

---

"Sakumo, for God's sake, do you _have_ to smother him?" Hatake Yuriko, hands on hips, examined her husband critically, a slight twitch in her left brow. She had been in the middle of mending a section of her spiked whip at the kitchen table, Kakashi playing with a few blunted kunai on the floor, when he came home and the theatrics started. "_Honestly_…the poor kid's going to be scarred for life at this rate."

Sakumo waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture. "Relax. He's fine, aren't you, Kakashi?"

The toddler, clutched tightly in his father's arms, made an 'mmph' noise, which Sakumo translated as 'Yes, dad, I'm perfect!'

"See?" He said, exuding the aura that many—irrationally—proud parents do when their offspring delight them. Sakumo was prouder than most parents, however, a fact that his son had learned early. Nary a day went by without at least seven or eight exuberant hugs—the boy usually wound up airborne at some point—endless streams of commentary on Kakashi's apparel ("Bitty overalls!") or expressions ("He smirked, I'm serious!") or progress ("Nailed that target on the oak. Nailed it!"), and numerous insistences that no, Sakumo was _not_ royally tampering with the future of his child's mental stability, so quit nagging, _please_.

But Yuriko _did_ nag. Often. It was her _job_ to nag. She and Sakumo wouldn't have gotten anywhere in their relationship if she hadn't nagged. Although, to be fair, he was responsible for attracting her interest to begin with—you only met a kisser of his caliber when the chips were stacked in your favor.

"Sakumo—"

Her husband was too busy coddling their son to pay her any heed.

"You…are…so…_cute_!" He exclaimed, and covered the boy's cheeks in kisses while Kakashi stared forlornly at his giggling mother.

"At least he'll know he's loved," Yuriko conceded, and went back to her whip, mourning the absence of a camera.

---

"Whew!" Sakumo wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and shook it, scattering drops of sweat. The unyielding sun beat down upon him, browning his exposed skin. His sleeves were tied up, the cuffs of his pants rolled to the knee, his long silver hair secured at the nape of his neck. Leaning on the handle of his spade, he surveyed the field, eyes bright. He'd bring in a good crop for certain.

"Oy, shortshit."

"Eh?" Sakumo peered over his shoulder.

The source of the voice grinned wolfishly. "Yo."

Sakumo did a double take. "_Jiraiya_?"

"Who else?" The big man crossed his arms and lifted an expectant eyebrow. "I figured my illustrious presence would warrant more of a welcome than this, though."

Laughing, Sakumo released the spade and embraced his brother, both slapping each other on the back. "How've you been?"

"Better than I was." Jiraiya thumbed the side of his nose. "Got into a scuffle with some Rock bandits. My leg was all sliced up, took about a week to heal."

Sakumo winced. In their profession, injuries were common, even expected. Rarely did an active ninja manage to carry out his missions without earning scars. "Still doing 'research' for those silly books of yours?" He wondered, changing the subject.

Jiraiya assumed a lofty air. "Ah, you say that now, little brother. Just wait. Those 'silly books' are gonna make millions, and then you'll wish you possessed a mind as astute as mine."

"Astute." Sakumo blew at a stray piece of bang. "More like 'perverted' if you ask me."

"And I didn't," Jiraiya retorted, trapping his brother's head in the crook of his arm and digging his fist against his crown.

After a brief struggle, Sakumo extracted himself from Jiraiya's hold, hair mussed all about his face, cheeks rosy. He looked no older than seventeen in that moment, young and hale and _happy_, his mirth seeming to spring directly from his core as he traded banter with his wayward sibling on a variety of topics, from their mother to the harvest to Jiraiya's love affairs or lack thereof.

A four-year-old Kakashi, sent by Yuriko to fetch his father for dinner, would keep that image of him in his heart, would cling to it when his sorrow threatened to overwhelm him, when resentment, a vile, nasty beast, latched onto him like a vice. _This_ was the father he venerated beyond all measure, the father who balanced the world on his palm and smiled down at it, the father who was so alive he spread his essence to everyone around him.

This was the father who would never die.

Quite suddenly, Kakashi was filled with the urge to run. "Daddy!" He cried, plowing determinedly through the wheat.

The conversation ceased as Sakumo, hearing his son, crouched, arms outstretched. "Hey kiddo!" He called back, and caught the boy up in a fierce hug when he crashed into him. "Your uncle's here. Exciting, huh?" He straightened, supporting Kakashi on his hip.

"Damn," Jiraiya whistled. "He's your clone."

Kakashi studied his uncle curiously. "Hi," he said. It had been a year since he'd seen the man, and he was trying to reacquaint himself with his recollections of him. Thankfully, Jiraiya's appearance was the same—long, unruly silver hair, just like Sakumo's; mischievous eyes set above red, pennant-shaped tattoos; broad mouth prone to leering. He wore his commoner's clothes like he was born in them, a powder blue, sleeveless tunic loosely belted at the waist, khaki cut-off breeches, and simple wooden thong sandals, canvas pack—containing his notebooks—strapped to his back. Kakashi's lips quirked. Ma always had a lot to say about Jiraiya's notebooks, and none of it was praise.

"'Lo there, squirt," Jiraiya replied cheerfully, and tweaked Kakashi's nose. He directed an arch look at his brother. "I'm starved. Got any grub for a poor, decrepit wanderer?"

"Ma made dinner," Kakashi said promptly. "It smelled good."

"I'll bet," Sakumo said. "We should hurry, then, or it'll get cold."

"Fabulous." Jiraiya rubbed his hands together, expression euphoric. "I _love_ Yuriko's cooking."

"Be sure to tell her that," his brother advised. "If you're lucky, she won't punt you out as soon as you step foot inside the house."

"_Me_?" Jiraiya said, mock indignant. "Why would _anyone_ want to do such a thing?"

They argued the entire trip home, but Kakashi didn't mind. He was content to listen to them.

---

"Had enough, boy?"

Sakumo's face, normally so open, was drawn, hard, and his bright eyes flashed. He glared at his son, who lay sprawled on his stomach in the grass, panting.

"Ready to give up?"

"Like…hell…" came Kakashi's muffled voice. With visible effort, abused muscles trembling, he used his arms to lift his torso from the ground. At one point he nearly buckled, but by sheer force of will, he remained aloft long enough to get his legs under him, rising ponderously to his feet. "I'm not finished yet," he growled, swiping at a trickle of blood by his mouth. Though his body protested, he assumed a guard stance and beckoned to his father.

Sakumo did not move. "Is this wise?" He said, a hint of ridicule in his tone. "You scarcely have the strength to stand, let alone defend yourself. Admit it."

Kakashi closed his eyes, breathing evenly. _Never lose your head_, his father had told him, _because that's what the enemy wants. He'll taunt you, dash holes in your pride, but you can't take the bait. Allow his words to pass through you, and focus. _So he focused, cleared his mind. He knew his limits, and if he was swift, vigilant, precise, he could last another five minutes at most. Better make them count. "Come," he said, beckoning again.

It was only then that his father grinned. "As you wish."

The fight was over faster than Kakashi anticipated.

"You're improving," Sakumo noted, and extended a hand to his son. "I'm very pleased."

Kakashi gawped at the proffered hand, not entirely sure what to do with it. The ringing in his ears was rather distracting, and that, coupled with his present state of dazed giddiness, inhibited his common sense. "How lovely," he remarked.

His father cackled. "Ah. One of _those_, I see." Gripping the boy's forearms, he hauled him up and appraised his balance. Finding it significantly diminished, Sakumo slung him over a shoulder as if he were a sack of grain, Kakashi too far gone to protest.

Five minutes…ha! More like five _seconds_…

---

"I…I'm tired, Kakashi…so tired…"

The man curled on the tatami mat in the dark room wasn't his father. Those shadows…his father didn't have those shadows beneath his eyes. His father didn't shrink from the light, all the lamps unlit, all the windows closed.

"But…the fields—"

"Not now, Kakashi." The voice had a finality to it, a darkness as dark as the room, as dark as the shadows beneath his eyes. Not now, not _ever_.

His father was dead.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you."

Kakashi took his leave, and slid the door shut behind him.

---

"I have to take this mission, baby, do you understand?" Yuriko hooked her whip on her belt, unable to meet his eyes. "It's important."

Oh, Kakashi understood. The hollow, empty smiles; the sobs at night; the mechanical way she chewed her food, cleaned the house, trained…He understood more than she realized.

"Sure, ma," he told her. "Be careful."

"I love you," she said, already distant, spirit halfway out of her body.

_Goodbye…_

---

Kakashi didn't know when he had pressed his cheek against the earth in front of the markers. Truthfully, he may have spent the remainder of the day in that position, traveling through his memories, had Chief not deigned to lick his face.

"Gee, thanks" he said to the dog, who, in response, treated his master to another lick before a chipmunk caught his attention and he bounded off.

Alone, Kakashi toyed with the notion of sitting up, but for whatever reason, he chose not to. Closing his eyes, he ran his palm over the dirt. Maybe they felt him, wherever they were. Maybe they read the forgiveness written on his heart, the acceptance. Maybe they saw a little boy shedding the chains he'd forged himself, chains wrought of bitterness, of fear, of _faithlessness_.

_This is it, Kakashi, _his father had said. _This is the only life you've got. _

"I miss you," Kakashi murmured, and his hand stilled, his eyes opened. He knew he was crying, the tears neither happy nor sad. They just _were_. "Sometimes I can't look in the mirror, because it's you reflected there instead of me." As he talked, he unburdened himself of everything he'd clung to, everything that had prevented him from moving on. "I'm not you, dad. And… you didn't want that. You wanted me to be who I am, to surpass you. Obito…Obito taught me how to live. Obito, and Rin, and mom…and you. I know that now. You all shaped me. You paved the road for me…"

"And that's why, when you lose your way, you have friends to help you find it."

Startled, Kakashi lifted his head.

Anko sat beside him, expression strangely tender. While she and Kakashi had been friends and occasional lovers—the ball was often in her court when it came to that—for years, so he knew she wasn't a hardass _all_ the time, it still made his nerves fizzle pleasantly when she showed her compassionate side.

Between the two of them, Kakashi was the ardent one, declaring his undying love as frequently as possible in her presence or out of it—Asuma, Genma, and Gai (who tagged along regardless of the others' preferences) were the usual victims subjected to his incessant gushing, and they made him the brunt of many a joke.

His goal, of course, was to persuade her that they belonged together, because he certainly did not intend to settle for anyone else, and wouldn't rest until she comprehended how crazy he was about her.

Sure, their personalities clashed—she was hyper, he was mellow—but at least boredom wouldn't factor into their relationship.

"How long have you been there?" He said, awed. "I didn't even sense your chakra…"

Anko smiled slyly, and reached out to brush the tears from his skin. "I saw you in town, and since I had nothing better to do, I followed." When he looked at her quizzically, she added, tone bland, "I'm as skilled as you at concealing myself, Kakashi."

He stared at her a moment, then shook his head ruefully. "So…you were listening, eh?"

She nodded. "Are you angry?"

Kakashi frowned. "Why would I be?"

The Special Jounin raised a brow. "That was some pretty personal stuff. If it were me—"

He placed a finger on her lips. "I'm glad you came," he said, eyes searching hers. "Everything you heard I would've told you eventually." He took the finger away. "And…I think my parents would appreciate you being here as much as I do."

Mutely, Anko turned from him to gaze at the markers. Kakashi examined her, trying to guess what she might be thinking. Of her own volition she tracked him, to what end she could not have guessed. Yet still she followed, and waited, and as soon as he needed her, she appeared.

_My guardian angel…_

He almost laughed aloud at the concept. He adored her, yes, but Anko was _not_ an angel.

Just as well. He wasn't an angel, either.

"Your son," she said abruptly, addressing the graves, "is an ass." Her twinkling eyes flicked toward him. "But don't worry. I'll keep him in line, I promise."

Kakashi gaped. "Wha—?"

Anko, ignoring him, touched her forehead in an ancient sign of respect and stood. "Let's go home," she said, bending to offer him a hand…like his father had done. As Kakashi watched, his vision blurred, and Sakumo was in her place, holding out his callused hand, grin as bright as the dawn. "Kakashi?" He blinked and his father evaporated, though the hand lingered. "Let's go home," Anko repeated softly.

Home…

"Okay," he said.

Her hand was warm, her fingers laced through his squeezing tight, as if to remind him he was alive, and she was with him. "We should bring flowers next time," she suggested. "And food. A picnic would be nice, yes?"

Kakashi, a trifle teary-eyed, yanked her into his arms. "A picnic would be wonderful," he agreed, pulling back to kiss her swiftly. "You're a godsend, kid."

"Damn straight," she said wickedly, and looked around. "Where's that dog of yours? I thought—"

Chief trotted proudly through the leaves, tail wagging, a large acorn in his mouth.

"Have fun, Chief?" Kakashi asked, and the dog's tail wagged harder.

"There," Anko said, satisfied. "_Now_ we can go."

They went, Kakashi and Anko hand-in-hand, sniggering like teenagers, Chief guiding them.

It had been a while since he last visited this place, but the ghosts were laid to rest.


End file.
